otherside
by Ravenclawdia
Summary: It happened on a Thursday, in the morning. The bullets shattered the daily routine first and everything else shortly afterwards. It began long before that. Warnings: school shootings, character deaths, the works .
1. it catches up with you

**A/N: **I know this is different and I'm still nervous about actually posting it. The concept has been in my head for months and bits of this have been there just as long; I couldn't shake it. I decided to wait until some misguided moment of thinking this was a good idea to publish it, and I guess this is that moment. I'll probably regret it soon.

**Disclaimers: **I don't own Glee; Glee owns me. Chapter title is from The Social Network's OST. Fic title is from the Red Hot Chili Peppers' song of the same name.

* * *

If you were to ask—really ask, honestly and quietly and with no hidden agenda or microphone or reporter pad— Quinn Fabray, she would probably tell you it started with the eggs. Because that's what Rachel had said. That's what had stuck out, at least, the first time, when Rachel was rambling and stumbling on her words but still so sure of what they were planning.

In a way, Quinn would be right.

It had been her Sophomore year and Rachel was at her weakest when it happened. It was there, standing in that parking lot with "unborn baby chickens" sliding down her, that something inside her finally broke; the subtlety of it contradicted the scope.

In truth, it had been building up for years. Quinn would know it eventually, and she should have known then.

But as of right now, it's already happened, and nobody cares about what she doesn't know as much as they do about what she does. About how she came to know it.

It's somewhere between the interviews and the questions and the investigations and the looks that she realizes that, yeah, she's still alive, but she's not much of a person to anybody anymore. She's a source of answers. The last living thing to blame things on as they scramble to avoid a reevaluation of absolutely everything.

She hates herself, Quinn's decided, more than she ever has.


	2. 6:32 AM

_"Between two worlds life hovers like a star, twixt night and morn, upon the horizon's verge." - Lord Byron  
_

* * *

"Alright, I'm good. You ready?"

"I—no," she says, looking up. "Not yet, give me some time."

"Come on, hurry it up."

He's beside himself, excited. There is light in his eyes and confidence in his posture. His tone doesn't match the words—he doesn't care about the time, he can bear to wait a bit more, but he's excited. He wants everybody to know.

"Calm down, Captain Trigger-Happy. We have the rest of our lives."

He throws his head back a bit and laughs. "Good one. Witty."

She hasn't seen him like this in such a long time, not really. There have been sparks of it when they've planned away, discussing the details and making the decisions, but those were momentary. Right now, it consumes him.

"And, hey," he continues. "I'm not going to be the only one they label as trigger-happy."

She breathes in, deep and slow, and then, inevitably, out. There's no way to respond to that. Not the way he wants her to, and certainly not the way a small part of her still would like her to. She turns back to her bag, checks everything one last time. It's all there, like they planned. No excuses left.

She straightens up and grabs the camera, flipping the screen open and turning it on. She points it at him.

"Alright, this is it. I'm going to start recording in—"

"Wait, no," he says, lighting up. "Better idea."

"Straying from the plan already?"

"We've been straying from the plan all along."

"Fine. What's your latest game-changing idea, Captain?"

"Hand me the camera."

"You were supposed to go first! I don't want to go first, I—"

"You won't. We both will."

He eases it out of her grip, looks around, sets it on his shelf. Smiling, he pulls her by the wrist and they both stand in front of it. He presses the record button.

"Oh, right, okay. Why?"

"It seems more logical, don't you think? We're doing this thing together, might as well show them that."

"Yeah, that makes sense."

"You still want me to start?"

"Yeah. Yes, go."

"Alrighty!" He looks at the camera, all smiles. "This is Jesse St. James."

"And this is, um, I'm Rachel Berry."

"And, well, you know this by now, but—and we've been planning this for a long time—we're about to make history. Take these as our last words."

He takes a deep breath and, grinning, begins.


	3. old yellow bricks

_Looked so miffed  
__When you wished  
__For a thousand places better than this_

Every day after the egg incident had been a performance, and Rachel loved that.

Like any respectable actor, she lost herself in her character. When the person she pretended to be was with her friends, she really was happy; she really did hate all the solos she'd lost; she really did break a bit more with every slushie to the face, every insult, every malice-laced laugh.

But so much of it was just pretending, too; she controlled the width of every smile she faked and made sure every sentence she spoke worked towards her goal. She made sure to please her audience.

Sometimes she thinks that even Barbra would have been proud.

_She was enraged  
__By the way  
__The emperors put traps in the cage_

Even when the pretending was unnecessary, Rachel still did it.

She pretended behind closed doors, when she wrote diary entries that didn't mention their plans at all. She pretended when she was with Jesse or Quinn or Jesse and Quinn, mentioning the trivialities of the days that would soon mean very little with every bit of excitement that was expected of her. She pretended when she was alone with her thoughts, during the silent stretches of class when her classwork was done or the teacher droned on and there was this odd paradox inside her, a simultaneous anticipation of her final performance and the inexplicable daydreaming about her future.

_Who wants to sleep in a city  
__That never wakes up,  
__Blinded by nostalgia?_

Her future.

It seemed so funny sometimes, the college applications she had sent in and the rejection she'd cried about. And the rambles with friends. And the daydreams.

She knew the plan and how it ended. There was no reason to daydream.

But there was nothing better to do and no point in having given herself so much time if she wasn't going to use some of it to pretend.

_She said— I want to sleep in the city  
__That never wakes up  
__And revel in nostalgia_


	4. 7:01 AM

_"You'll tell yourself anything you have to, to pretend that you're still the one in control." - Jodi Picoult_

* * *

They pull in almost on schedule and the schedule almost matters. Rachel turns the camera off. Puts it in her bag. Pulls it back. Slips her hand between the plastic and the strap. Turns the camera on. Jesse is confused.

"What's that for?"

"I just thought," Rachel says slowly. "That we should record the outside of the school just before. By the time the news crews come around, there won't be much normal about it; maybe… some of them would like to see the final moments?"

"Since when are we concerning ourselves with their needs?"

"Jesse, you know it's different for me."

He does know; he just doesn't understand. He's never cared. He rolls his eyes and decides to humor her. It won't be long now, in any case.

"Alright, fine. But only a little bit, we need to hurry this up."

"You want to hurry this up, you mean."

"Whatever."

He begins to step out of the car, pulling his bag along with him.

"No, wait," Rachel says. "Let's leave the— the stuff in here. While we film. I want it to be as normal as possible."

Jesse considers the possibility that the girl may actually be crazy, but he realizes that mental wellbeing isn't much of a factor today. He's uncharacteristically patient right now, and it completely contradicts the urgency and excitement he's bursting with, but. Explanations aren't needed anymore. He'll just go with it, he decides.

Rachel runs around the car and pulls him so they're in the middle of the row's two parking sides. She flips the camera open, taking shots that sweep across the school, and then ones where she spins in place, and then ones where she's talking-

"This is William McKinley Senior High of Lima, Ohio. There's nothing special about it to most people, but there could have been, for me. Once upon a time, there was."

Jesse just watches her, mostly.


End file.
